


all the very best of us (string ourselves up for love)

by folignos



Category: Hockey RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6087871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folignos/pseuds/folignos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Don’t be a child,’ he says. ‘You’re coming over, tonight.’</p><p>‘Willie--’</p><p>‘Tonight.’</p><p>And that’s how Jeff finds himself standing on Justin’s porch, hair still damp from the shower, shivering slightly even in his thick, wool coat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all the very best of us (string ourselves up for love)

**Author's Note:**

> there are a lot of people to blame for this
> 
> mostly i went to the caps/kings game last week and had a whole bunch of feelings about mike richards, and now i have this fic, and i'm not sorry at all.
> 
> title from vanderlyle crybaby geeks, because of who i am as a person

‘You gonna talk to him?’

It’s just him and Justin in the hallway, the rest of the guys wandering off to get changed and showered. For some reason, Jeff lingers.

‘Is he gonna talk to me?’ Jeff counters, regrets it immediately when Justin fixes him with a look.

‘Don’t be a child,’ he says. ‘You’re coming over, tonight.’

‘Willie--’

‘ _Tonight_.’

And that’s how Jeff finds himself standing on Justin’s porch, hair still damp from the shower, shivering slightly even in his thick, wool coat.

Justin opens the door in a soft looking red shirt and a pair of Kings sweats, ragged at one knee, curls falling into his face. Fuck, but Jeff _missed_ this. ‘He’s in his room,’ he says. ‘He thought you were gonna bail on him.’

The ‘again’ is unspoken, and unfair, but if there’s one thing Jeff’s learnt about Mike over the past ten years, it’s been to pick his battles.

‘Can I go up?’ he asks. Justin’s eyes crinkle into a smile.

‘I’ll kick your ass if you don’t,’ he says. ‘And don’t think I won’t.’

Jeff takes a deep breath, nods. ‘Okay,’ he says.

‘Welcome home, Carts,’ Justin says, softly, and Jeff is standing in the entranceway to a house he’s never seen before, in a city he’s visited maybe ten times in his career, and fuck, if Justin standing in front of him and Mike so close he can hear him isn’t home, Jeff doesn’t know what is.

Justin pulls him in for a kiss while Jeff’s standing there like a dumbass, listening to a door upstairs open and shut. He shaved after the game, and his lips are smooth against Jeff’s chapped ones. His tongue slips into Jeff’s mouth easily, like it used to, like it always did. Kissing Justin’s always been easy, Jeff remembers, suddenly. He can’t believe he’d forgotten what it was like to have Justin’s hand palming his hip, slipping under his thick coat and rucking his dress shirt up the tiniest bit to thumb at the cut of his hip, just above a bruise.

‘Hey,’ Jeff says, awkward, when Justin pulls away.

‘Hey,’ Mike says, from halfway down the stairs, and Jeff jumps out of his skin.

‘Didn’t see you there, Richie,’ he says, trying to recover, trying for casual and missing it by a country mile.

Mike hums, takes a couple of steps down the stairs. ‘You had a good game tonight,’ he says. He’s doing the thing he always does, talking without saying _anything_. It drives Jeff insane.

He wouldn’t have Mike any other way.

‘I missed you,’ he says, and looks Mike in the eye just in time to see him force his expression blank again.

Another hum. Another couple of steps. Justin is still standing in between them. If Jeff concentrates, ignores the strange house and the grey in Justin’s hair, it’s almost like it’s 2014 again.

Justin still has a thumb hooked into the waistband of Jeff’s pants. He lets go, and takes a couple of steps away so he’s not standing between them. Jeff has to squash the urge to run at Mike like some fucking chick flick. He’s not going to kiss Mike in the rain and promise they’ll be together forever.

Jeff’s too old to make promises he knows he’s not going to keep.

He doesn’t run, but when he reaches Mike he wraps his arms around him like a life jacket, like Mike’s the only thing stopping him from sinking. It takes a second, but Mike hugs him back. Jeff can feel the point of his nose in the hollow of his collarbone.

‘You’re an asshole,’ Mike says, muffled, but his hand is strong between Jeff’s shoulder blades, holding them flush together.

Jeff picks another battle.

‘I know,’ he says, and then, ‘I’m sorry.’

It’s not meant to be a big deal, but he feels Mike’s sharp inhale. ‘You never apologise,’ he accuses, lifting his head. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeff thinks he can see the shock on Justin’s face.

‘I am now,’ he says, flushing a little.

Mike’s throat works. ‘Okay,’ he says, and slides his hands to Jeff’s waist. ‘You’re still an asshole,’ he warns.

‘I am,’ Jeff agrees.

Mike looks like he’s going to say something else, when Justin steps up beside them, puts a hand on Mike’s shoulder. Jeff watches the set of his shoulders sag, just the tiniest bit, and feels the pull in his gut that comes from knowing someone else has been doing for Mike what he did for ten years.

‘Let’s go upstairs,’ Justin says, quietly.

Jeff licks his lower lip, nervous. ‘We’re not flying out until morning,’ he says. ‘I-- I have time. If--’ he trails off.

‘If what?’

‘If you want me to stay,’ he says. He feels off-balance in a way he never has with Mike, and he doesn’t like it.

Mike frowns. ‘Why wouldn’t we want you to stay?’

‘I’m an asshole,’ Jeff offers. Next to him, Justin snorts softly with a laugh.

‘Our asshole though,’ Mike says, and suddenly his hands aren’t around Jeff’s waist, they’re around his wrists, and he’s pulling Jeff up the stairs. Jeff forgot how strong he was, even during the game, when he was crashing the net and shoving guys away. It’s easy to look at Mike and think delicate, especially now, when he’s just starting to show a hint of NHL bulk after half a season of beer league hockey. He’s always been wiry, but he looks thin right now, with Jeff hulking over him.

‘You look good,’ Jeff says, suddenly, and realises it’s not a lie. He’s thin, but there’s colour in his cheeks, and the bags under his eyes aren’t quite so purple. Near the end, last year, before Mike got sent down, when things were maybe the worst they’d been in years, he looked like a junkie, pale and drawn and his hands couldn’t stop shaking. It was-- bad. This is better, Jeff realises, suddenly.

They have homes on opposite sides of the continent, yeah, but LA was never the city for Mike. He didn’t like the traffic, or the weather, or the people. DC’s a little smaller, a little cooler, a little quieter.

‘You’re happy, right?’ he asks. Mike is looking at him with the weirdest expression on his face, like he can’t figure out Jeff’s angle.

Jeff can’t really figure out Jeff’s angle, in fairness.

‘Come on,’ Justin says, and Jeff blinks, manages to look away from Mike’s steady gaze. He looks like he’s trying to figure out how to beat Jeff in a faceoff.

‘Upstairs,’ Jeff says, after a beat, and the look on Mike’s face is gone. He lets go of one of Jeff’s wrists, tightens his grip on the other, and turns to lead him up the stairs, like Jeff wouldn’t follow Mike to the ends of the earth.

(Like he didn’t _try_.)

Mike’s bedroom is-- well, it’s about what Jeff was expecting. Sparse. The sheets are pale blue, and crumpled, comforter piled on the floor, probably where he left it when he got up this morning. The curtains are drawn, and made of thick, heavy material. Jeff doesn’t think about why he needs blackout curtains when he’s always been able to sleep like the dead in broad daylight.

‘Are you--’ he means to ask if he’s doing okay, but Mike pulls him in for a kiss that feels like eight months of wanting and longing and missing, and the words kind of die in his throat as he tilts his head into it and lets his eyes slide shut.

‘Shut _up_ ,’ Mike mumbles after a moment, and Jeff can’t help but laugh before kissing him deeper.

He doesn’t realise he’s still wearing his coat until Mike shoves at the lapels, and the heavy weight of it hits the floor with a dull thud. He does the same thing with his suit jacket, and Mike thinks Justin picks them up and hangs them somewhere, but he doesn’t really care, because as soon as Mike’s yanked his tie off him, he’s sucking a hickey into his collarbone, the same place he always does-- always used to, anyway.

Justin steps up behind him, a warm weight against his back, and he slides his hand over Jeff’s belly, where his shirt’s already untucked, riding up a little where Mike is pressed against him.

‘We missed you,’ he murmurs, lips on Jeff’s earlobe, and Jeff shivers, making a soft sound when Justin sinks his teeth into the cord of muscle running down the side of his neck. He and Mike seem to be in perfect sync, moving around Jeff easily, like they know exactly where the other one’s going to be. Like how the three of them used to be before Mike got sent down and Justin signed with the Caps. Jeff feels like he’s a step behind both of them, and it makes something in his stomach sit funny.

Mike’s lost his shirt, and he’s got a hand clutched in the material of Jeff’s; Jeff’s gonna have to borrow one of Justin’s and hope no one notices. He runs a hand down Mike’s ribs, skirts over the spot above his kidneys where he’s ticklish, making him squirm. The weight loss is more pronounced when he’s not wearing clothes, but he’s not skeletal like he was the last time Jeff saw him in person. He swallows the urge to tell Mike he looks good again, and kisses him instead, skimming his palms over the gentle swell of his pecs, scraping fingernails over his nipples and the faint ridges of his abs and hips. His sweats are practically falling off him they’re so low on his hips.

‘Are these Justin’s?’ Jeff asks, tugging at the waistband carefully. They’re so low he can tell Mike’s not wearing any underwear at all.

‘Yours,’ Mike says. ‘Stole them before I went to Manchester.’

Something about that makes Jeff go all hot and shivery again, and he growls into the kiss. Mike gives as good as he gets, always has, and he starts working on the buttons on Jeff’s shirt. Behind him, he hears a rustle of fabric, and when his shirt falls to the floor, he feels Justin’s bare chest pressed up against his back, and his hands, always a little too cold, settle onto his hips again, holding him still while Mike-- fuck, while Mike drops to his knees, easy as breathing.

Jeff’s hands go to Mike’s hair, digging into the curls. His hair’s a little longer than the last time they did this, a little easier to grip. He squeezes his hands and relaxes, letting some of the hair slip through his fingers.

‘You have such a type, Carts,’ Justin murmurs in his ear, hand still flat on his belly, pinkie finger just skirting the edge of his belt.

‘Yeah?’ he asks, tipping his head back onto Justin’s shoulder while Mike mouths at his zipper, not even attempting to undo his belt.

Justin hums, and presses his fingertips into Jeff’s abs, keeping him caught between the two of them. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

Jeff kind of wants to lift his head, look down at Mike on his knees-- fuck, he’s missed that sight, Mike looking up at him with those wide eyes he gets, lower lip swollen from where one of them has been biting it almost bloody, but he’s afraid if he does Mike will vanish, or turn to salt, or-- or something. Instead, he closes his eyes, turns his head and finds Justin’s lips, still just as soft as they were downstairs, still just as willing to open up underneath him.

The first time they did this, the three of them, they’d just won a Stanley Cup. They were drunk, and then worse, and then they were tumbling into bed in a hotel room they weren’t even sure was theirs. It was, objectively, some of the worst sex Jeff has ever had, and he’s counting the fumbling, sometimes legitimately painful handjobs he traded with Mike when they were eighteen and too dumb to live.

They did it again, two weeks later, stone cold sober, and after that, it went from Jeff And Mike to Jeff And Mike And Justin, until everything went to shit. Jeff knows they can’t ever really go back to Jeff And Mike And Justin, it’s going to be Mike And Justin (And Sometimes Jeff), but he thinks right now, with Justin’s thumb making slow circles on the soft skin of his belly, and Mike finally, _finally_ getting his hands on Jeff’s belt, it’s easy to pretend that maybe they can go back, just for a little bit.

The Caps are in LA in March, Jeff knows, has had it circled on his calendar. He hoped Justin would want to hook up for old times sake.

He didn’t ever think he’d get to see Mike again like this.

‘Hey,’ he says, tugging on Mike’s hair gently, lifting his head to look down at him. Mike looks up at him, silent. There’s a curl falling over his forehead where it’s escaped from Jeff’s grip. ‘I love you,’ he says, softly.

Mike-- says nothing. Behind him, Justin makes a sound. Jeff can’t decipher it, and before he can even try, Mike’s unzipping his pants and sliding a hand into his underwear to pull him out.

Jeff doesn’t want to talk about how long it’s been since _anyone_ touched his dick, he hasn’t even really been helping himself out, too tired after games, too sad after Mike, too-- whatever. But Mike’s hands are careful and calloused and familiar, and Jeff just _wants_.

‘You’re not gonna freak out on us, are you, Carts?’ Justin murmurs. He’s making tiny circles with his thumb over Jeff’s belly, and Jeff realises all his muscles are tensed, like he’s ready to bolt. He takes a deep breath, and tries to relax. He shakes his head, brushing his cheek against Justin’s lips.

‘’M okay,’ he mumbles. Mike’s thumb is digging into his frenulum, gently, like he’s just reminding Jeff he’s still here. It’s kind of all Jeff can think about. Justin tips his head, finds a space on his cheek that isn’t beard, kisses him carefully.

‘Good,’ he says, quietly, and squeezes Jeff’s hip.

A second before Mike’s lips touch the tip of his cock, Jeff knows it’s coming. There’s a breath of warm air, and it’s so quiet in the room he hears the soft, wet sound of Mike licking his lower lip. Jeff takes a long, even breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. ‘Do it,’ he says. ‘Please, Richie.’

There’s a soft huff of laughter, and Mike opens his mouth, takes Jeff in all the way to the root. If not for Justin, Jeff’s hips would have jerked forward, choking Mike. He never did like to be choked, would only do this if he could hold Jeff down, against the mattress, the floor, once, memorably, the shower cubicle wall at Wells Fargo. Jeff got used to the finger shaped bruises on his hips.

Now, though, Mike’s not holding his hips, is barely even touching him. He has a hand wrapped around his ankle, thumb tucked underneath where the bone juts out, and the other just lightly placed on his upper thigh, barely nudged into the crease of his groin. It’s _maddening_ , and it just gets Jeff hotter, and Justin is _still_ making the smallest circles with his thumb, just below Jeff’s navel, where the skin is soft and sensitive. It’s-- a lot, all at once, when Jeff’s still getting used to Mike being someone he can touch again, not just a ghost.

When Mike finally starts moving, pulls almost all the way off before sinking back down, Jeff falls apart. Mike’s good with his mouth, always has been, and he knows exactly what to do to Jeff to turn him into this mess of moans and jerks.

‘Fuck, Mike,’ he says, breathy, and he can _feel_ the smirk on his lips even as Mike doesn’t miss a beat. If anything, he speeds up. Saliva is gathering at the corner of his mouth, and Jeff loosens one hand to thumb at it, smearing it into his cheek and chin.

It’s hard to make eye contact with someone when you’re sucking their dick, but Mike hasn’t taken his eyes of Jeff since he opened his mouth. Jeff feels like he’s under a microscope, but he can’t shake this ridiculous feeling that if he blinks, it’s all going to disappear. He doesn’t want to forget what Mike looks like on his knees again.

His orgasm surprises everyone. It ends up spattered over Mike’s chin and throat, and he licks his lower lip carefully.

‘Sorry,’ Jeff says, still trying to catch his breath.

Mike wrinkles his nose. ‘It’s still weird that you’re apologising for things now,’ he says. Behind Jeff, Justin shakes with silent laughter. It pushes his erection into the crease of Jeff’s ass, and he pushes back without thinking.

‘I can stop,’ Jeff offers. ‘I just--’

‘Have a lot to apologise for,’ Mike finishes, for him. It’s not harsh, though Jeff wouldn’t blame him if it was. Jeff shrugs, helpless.

‘Yeah,’ he says, eventually. Justin squeezes him again. Mike says nothing, climbs up off his knees and scrubs at his face with the back of his hand.

‘Can we fuck you?’ he asks. Something in Jeff’s gut twists. Mike’s never asked him that before, it just-- is how it goes. They make him come to take the edge off of it, and then they open him up real slow, and take it in turns to-- own him.

He nods, slowly, and for the first time that night, he gets to see Mike smile.

‘On the bed, kid,’ Justin rumbles.

‘I’m _thirty one_ ,’ Jeff complains, but he steps out of his pants and underwear, tumbles onto the bed in just his socks.

Justin laughs. ‘You’re always gonna be that skinny, sullen kid who came over from Columbus to me,’ he says. Jeff pulls a face, but lets Justin tug his socks off, and then he’s just sprawled on Mike’s bed, totally naked.

‘It feels like it’s 2014 again,’ Mike says, suddenly. Justin hums in agreement.

‘Exactly like 2014?’ Jeff asks, without meaning to. Something in Mike’s face goes a little dark.

‘Well, I’m sober now, so,’ he says, blunt, and Jeff flinches. He opens his mouth, but-- ‘Do not apologise again,’ Mike interrupts. ‘Don’t do it, Jeff.’

Jeff shuts his mouth.

‘Good,’ Mike says, and drops his sweatpants to crawl into Jeff’s lap, kissing him. Jeff’s arms go around him automatically, pulling him in. Mike plants his knees either side of Jeff’s hips and braces himself, rolling his hips against Jeff like it’s nothing. ‘Maybe I won’t fuck you,’ he says, into Jeff’s neck. ‘Maybe I’ll just rub off on you like this, like I used to in the A.’ Jeff makes a sound. His fingernails must be digging into Mike’s back, but he’s always liked a little pain mixed in, even on the ice.

‘That’s what I thought,’ Mike says, and the bed dips suddenly under Justin’s weight. He sits between Jeff’s knees, forcing Mike’s thighs even further apart. Jeff forgets how flexible he is. He works a hand between them to drag it across where the muscles in his thighs are solid and steady, and Mike shivers.

Justin’s hand is on his thigh, cool and wet with something, and he works his way between Jeff’s cheek’s carefully, pressing the tip of his index finger into him. Jeff tries to lift his hips, but Mike is _there_ , and heavy, and he’s trapped between them again, like he always is.

He lifts his head in time to see them kissing, awkwardly twisted into it, but Mike’s eyes are half closed, and he lifts a hand off Jeff’s chest to curl the fingers around Justin’s jaw and turn into it more. He’s lifted off Jeff a little, and Jeff rolls his hips, tries to push back into Justin’s hand and up against Mike’s dick at the same time. It breaks their kiss, and they both look at him with heavy lidded eyes. Jeff realises Justin was right. He does have a type.

‘Fuck me,’ he says, and hopes it doesn’t sound too much like begging. Justin gives him a smirk, and pushes his finger into Jeff, up to the last knuckle. He bucks, and manages to unseat Mike the tiniest bit, who gives him another look as he resettles himself, a little higher on Jeff’s waist, so his ass rubs against Jeff’s dick. He’s starting to get hard again, he realises, and wriggles a little more.

‘Hey,’ Justin says, mildly, and smacks him on the ass. It jolts something inside him, and he stops moving. ‘Behave,’ he says, neutral, and eases his finger out, pushes two back in. Jeff’s head slams against the pillows.

‘Fuck,’ he breathes, and Mike, fuck, Mike _laughs_ , delighted.

‘I forgot about this,’ he says. He wriggles, and Jeff’s cock, still slick, slides between Mike’s cheeks easily.

‘Me too,’ Justin murmurs. He’s cupping the back of Jeff’s knee with his free hand, lifting it up and out to give him more room to work with, and he keeps kissing the side of his kneecap, almost absent mindedly.

‘I didn’t,’ Jeff deadpans. He kind of had, though. He hasn’t let anyone fuck him in-- a long time. Hasn’t had sex in longer than he’d care to admit to anyone, really. He’d forgotten what it was like to feel like someone’s, mostly.

‘Gonna give you something else to remember, right, Justin?’ Mike asks, grinding down again. Jeff’s on a hair trigger as it is, and he’s so oversensitive from the blowjob, and Justin’s fingers, and-- he’s just barely holding on, is the thing, and now Mike’s bobbing up and down in his lap, almost but not quite riding him.

‘ _Mike_ ,’ he manages, and gets another smirk from him.

‘Yeah, Carts?’ he asks, smug, and when he grinds this time, the head of Jeff’s dick just catches on his rim, makes his eyes go a little wide. A little puff of sound escapes his lips, and for the first time, he looks like something about this is affecting him.

‘Do that again,’ Jeff says, even as Justin twists his fingers, and he _knows_ he sounds like he’s begging now, but Mike does it again and again, and Justin adds another finger, and Jeff comes _again_ , all over Mike’s thighs, his own belly, clenching down on Justin’s fingers hard.

It takes him until he’s caught his breath to realise it’s not just his come striping his belly. Mike has one hand on Jeff’s chest and the other wrapped around his softening dick. He looks up at Jeff, and he looks _drunk_ with it, eyes hazy, and his head is nodding, just the faintest bit.

‘Hey,’ Jeff says, softly. Mike blinks at him slowly, and gives him a lazy, come-drunk smile, leans in for a sloppy kiss. This is Jeff’s favourite Mike.

When he looks around him, Justin’s got a fistful of jizz, too, where he’d just stuck his hand in his sweatpants and pulled his dick out. He looks-- Jeff doesn’t know. Fond, he thinks. Smiling at Jeff like he always does. Like he’d never left. Jeff reaches out for him, gets a hand into his curls, pulls him in for a kiss that goes on so long, the come on his stomach is starting to dry.

‘You guys need a shower,’ Justin says, pulling back. ‘I’m gonna make tea.’

He kisses the nape of Mike’s neck softly, and climbs out of the bed, swapping his dirty sweatpants for the ones Mike abandoned on the floor. Jeff’s sweatpants, he realises. They both watch him leave, and then Mike sinks onto Jeff’s chest.

He feels small, like this. Breakable. Fragile, though Jeff knows he’s the exact opposite. Mike Richards is steel and ice and stronger than Jeff ever will be.

‘I’m proud of you,’ he says, without thinking.

Mike blinks at him again. He’s falling asleep, always does after sex. He frowns, lopsided. ‘What?’

‘You made it back,’ Jeff says, and then wraps an arm around Mike’s waist, swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He can hear Justin in the kitchen, rattling in the cupboards.

Mike shrugs, says nothing.

‘I’m just proud,’ Jeff says, and then stands up, unseating Mike onto the mattress. ‘Come on, we should shower.’

He doesn’t check to see if Mike’s following him. He doesn’t need to.


End file.
